


Flower Paper

by AChiaro



Series: Poetry [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: All my rhyme-schemy things go here to free up the graveyard for freeform, F/F, Introspection, Poetry, Rhyming Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22937746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AChiaro/pseuds/AChiaro
Summary: A poetry collection, in which I actually attempt rhyming poetry.I should sit by the window and choke on tears. Instead, I am here, shouting at nobody.
Series: Poetry [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653604
Kudos: 3





	1. Activism

Something to remember from a time when I was young   
My brother's scorn because we disagreed.  
Us children never learned to get along.  
I naively wished (presumed) to save the world.  
And he, presumably, liked cars, friends, birthday presents.

To him, an earthworm had no value,  
I thought it lived, so it must think and feel.  
With anger (a cruel comment, can't remember) did he crush it with his heel,  
I pushed him off. A doomed and filthy rescue.

I cried, pathetic ugly worm, I cradled it.  
He might have laughed. (I don't think he did.)  
Neither told our parents.

A lesson brother taught me, that sits deep beneath my skin: What you may love, we'll kill. (To see you squirm, to win).  
A gentler lesson I can share: We can hurt you if you care.


	2. The Forum

Please, shut up, I beg of you  
stop screaming in my eyes  
I know they’re real, the danger true  
I know that we must rise.

What else is there to do,   
but sit in wait and scream.  
Believe, I’m outraged, too  
What here is what it seems.

You think this will change the world,  
your words, expletives, the curses  
You think one voice in the whispering woods  
is heard, will heat this sluggish blood.

We’re chained like circus elephants,   
won't step outside our lines.  
Sing revolution, scream our false defiance.  
We’ve all already seen the signs.

Find another place to weep,  
Shut up, I just want to sleep.


	3. Sleep

There's nothing really, that I want to do.  
I remember the flame, the tidal push to  
make them see me, hear me, make them cry.  
Now I just want to lay down and die.

I want to sleep. I want to be free.  
I want a mountain pushing down on me.  
(There's nothing I can do. I can't wake, I can't get up.  
You can't lift this. You can give up.)

I'm too tired to think up worlds,  
a god seeing his first and faulty clay.  
It can stay this way.  
I just won't look, it's like I haven't failed.

I'll take time to rest, a day  
(A month, a year, forever)  
I don't sleep to wake up, I sleep to forget,  
that I have nothing more to say.


	4. Bed

What is there in the sweetness of these tears,   
this lazing melting thing I am become.  
I am sheltered so far from my fears  
I have gone to leave what I have not yet done.

Around me, mountains grow, and stinking cutting hills,  
but here I don’t feel anger, I do not feel displeased. 

This hallowed, cushioned garden   
no pain may wander through.  
The cold around us is my faithful warden  
that grinds to dust each laugh, erodes each painful hue.

Would my grave be soft and warm as this,  
a paradise carved into shattered stone.   
Unescaped and dearer for it, this   
locked rotting crypt that I may call my home.


	5. Water Damage

The homes I built are empty now   
there's tripwire there's mines   
rope-think vines that grow

I laid bricks in times long past   
and filled them up with flowers,  
and thought that they would last

The windows are all broken   
the shards litter the ground  
and every gift and token  
from you nowhere to be found

It could have been the mortar   
the lonely wind that howls   
the lack of running water  
or warmth within that house

I am not an architect   
how would I know to build  
something you won't reject  
something that will not wilt

That house we built is empty  
but for the biting cold  
Now it would barr me entry  
if I'd ever be so bold


	6. Optimism

I am, have been  
a woman who would raise   
by turns, bursting, wanting to be seen   
her voice, only to herself,   
wanting her noise to quietly finally cease.

I’ve traveled further tides,   
seen stranger shores shift by.  
Fresh unfamiliar winds have long left me untouched  
neither have I known fear   
that vice-like my heart and stomach clutched.

The sunrise left me blinded  
scalding, it burned off all my skin  
I was deaf, mad, lost, unguided,  
something I had not yet (never) been.

I am - I will - become,  
this other changeling child.  
Know all strange and bothersome  
emotions, yet the screams inside  
my chest may become quiet.


	7. Number One

O this world looks just the same  
and I am walking a straight line.   
I push past the hurried crowd  
and I don't even need the time.

That horrid thought persists,  
Why don't they just make way,  
Why don't they push me down,  
That's nothing I can say.

Do they not feel this loneliness,  
that guards the soul from harm?   
When they give, share, courtesy,  
do they get to feel warm?

My passed-down iron cloak  
will not ward off the chill,   
perhaps standing tall together  
one heart shared by thousands will. 

I won't stop acting out  
I’ll take what I can get  
and guard my precious hoard  
of gemstones and regret.

Don't you get too close,   
don't trust your back to me  
I am not one of you,  
I am too scared to be. 


	8. Weep

dream me a green little dream   
sing me a sad little song   
my eyes have lost all their gleam  
ever since you’ve been gone

can you give flowers to me   
and shining glittering stars   
your smile that I’ve wished to see   
since the land has gone dark

weeping widows await   
carrying lanterns at dusk   
soldiers lead through the gate   
ashes and bloodstains and rust

amongst them is one that is fair   
and lovely as sunflower smiles   
I need him like I need the air   
and he has walked thousand of miles

come home to me now my dear   
and put your cold hand into mine   
darling, let's stay right here   
until the end of all time


	9. Metaphor

they never taste like anything but people  
whose touch never left any scorching marks   
and to see them smile is not a revelation   
their eyes don’t shine as lights within the dark

when I lean I never feel their soul under my hands   
and never does a careless word shatter my heart   
there are no gods and monsters in this interaction   
no divine significance, no preternatural spark

and the face is just a face, the voice is only noise   
and they are simply human, ugly, real and stark

**Author's Note:**

> Do drop a kudos. I appreciate constructive criticism. Thank you for reading.


End file.
